


Provocation

by Sephielya_J_Maxwell



Series: Johanson Household [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Caning, Corporal Punishment, M/M, Spanking, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sephielya_J_Maxwell/pseuds/Sephielya_J_Maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An original Victorian era piece. Two male servants balance their duties, social morality, and their secretive relationship with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Provocation

     Warren Sutton had been a pageboy for two years now. Admittedly, he had started a bit late. The usual age for becoming a pageboy was 12, and he had been 14. That being the case, it was somewhat embarrassing that he wasn’t allowed by his employers, the Johansons, to be called a footman. He suspected that this was mostly due to the increase in pay that it would require. Not that the Johansons were _cheap,_ but they could be called very frugal with their money. Mr. Johanson was a solicitor of some sort, the particulars of which Warren wasn’t very clear on. He’d only taken this job to help his large family out, and so he was lucky to save 5 shillings a month. There were benefits, of course. The work was mostly light, and the Johansons were generally kind to their servants. Mr. Johanson had a mean streak when he’d been drinking, but it was easy to stay out of his way, unless you were the butler of course. And speaking of the butler…

 

Warren couldn’t help but count the butler as one of the benefits of working in this household. He’d always thought that butlers were old men, but the Johansons had promoted their head footman to the status of butler almost exactly one year ago. His name was Roland Gladwell, he was 24, and the 16 year old pageboy couldn’t get him out of his mind. Roland stood some six and a half inches taller than he was, but he had a way of making any one individual feel three feet tall with only a glance of those ice blue eyes. It wasn’t just Warren; he’d confirmed it with several other servants! The butler behaved almost as if he had something to prove, and he very well might. Though Warren had only known the previous butler, Mr. Hatfield, for a year, it was somewhat surprising how seriously that Roland took his job. Didn’t a young man want to rest? Technically, most of what a butler did could be handed down to other servants. Instead, Roland decided to handle most tasks personally. He even continued to do some of the work he had done as a footman, whenever he got the chance.

 

Roland’s formal attire fit his tall, firm body like a glove. Warren _dreamed_ of seeing him without his jacket, or the rest of his clothing to be honest. He knew that there was something _wrong_ with this way of thinking, but his mother had always told him that it was indecent to think of _women_ in such a way. He was in no way prepared to handle these sorts of thoughts about another _man._ Sadly, Warren’s work kept him largely out of the way of the butler. His desire to occupy even the same room as Roland became so strong that he had searched for any way to accomplish this. The only sure method that he found was not the best, but it succeeded. When delivering a letter, he lingered just long enough to be scolded about the time. Forgetting to trim the lamps properly, or leaving spots on the glass that he cleaned, and allowing fires to nearly go out before he tended to them. Each of these actions was sure to earn him a long scolding, or if he was lucky, a physical punishment.

 

Not that Warren _enjoyed_ being hurt by the birch or the rod, of course! In fact, he wasn’t fond of it at all. If only they didn’t leave such welts or soreness, he might. But the lingering traces of a punishment meant that he had to space out his secret sabotages, both so that he didn’t lose his job, and because his chastisement would be cut short if he was still marked by the welts of the previous incident. In these sessions, Warren didn’t avert his eyes when he was scolded. Though his chin would tilt downwards in respect, his green eyes were fixed on that calm and collected face. Roland’s brows would furrow and his voice would lower in irritation, never failing to give the shorter man a thrill. When the pageboy bit his lower lip, it wasn’t in contrition at all. The rush of adrenaline when Roland gave his orders was addictive, so much so that Warren was likely to do anything that he asked. How he _wished_ that the butler would order him to do everything he did in Warren’s dreams! As this was the case, Warren was so caught up in his little game; he ‘forgot’ clean the glassware properly.

 

When the summons came by the means of the scullery maid Grace, Warren suppressed a smile. He put on his best expression of concern, heading to the dish and silverware pantry without hesitation. Opening the door, he became keenly aware of the trouble that he was in, and he didn’t have to fake his expression any longer. As he closed the door behind him, feeling the weight of those ice blue eyes on him, he swallowed. Roland stood towards the back of the room, next to a cabinet of glassware. The door of it was open, and Warren knew what would be inside. Roland lifted one hand, motioning for the pageboy to come closer, and Warren had to fight not to drag his feet. Once he was close enough, the butler reached up to capture his chin in his hand. Turning the younger man’s face towards the cabinet, he didn’t disappoint, voice low in his chastising tone.

 

“And just what is this?” Roland demanded hotly. Warren swallowed, surveying the water-spotted glasses inside.

 

“I… must have rushed a little too much, and left before they dried.” The pageboy offered. He gasped when his head was turned again, eyes widening a little. Roland was… _angry_ today. The grip on his chin wasn’t painful, but he dare not move a muscle to escape it.

 

“Are you deliberately trying to anger me, Sutton?” The butler asked. Warren tried to shake his head on instinct, speaking up when that wasn’t allowed.

 

“No, Mr. Gladwell!” He lied. For perhaps the first time, he felt a little guilty.

 

“Thankfully I was able to quickly wipe a few pieces down for breakfast. Mr. Johanson would have been furious to see this. I do not appreciate having to take extra time in order to cover for your mistakes, Sutton.”

 

“I-I genuinely apologize, Mr. Gladwell. It won’t happen again!” Warren assured. Roland wasn’t convinced, and he released the pageboy’s chin with a _tsk_ of his tongue.

 

“No, it won’t.” Turning his back, the butler moved over to a closed wooden cabinet, opening it and retrieving a long bundle of birch. “Just three days ago, you forgot to trim a lamp in Mrs. Johanson’s bedroom. She was most upset when it went out, and I’d hoped you would take your resulting caning as warning. I can see now that I was too lenient with you.” Roland remarked, gripping the handle of the birch as he approached the pageboy again. Warren wanted to protest at once, though he only gave a small sound of complaint. _Lenient_? The welts still ached a little when he sat down! Roland was pointing to the table in the middle of the room, the one at which they would sit at to clean the glass and silverware. One chair had been pulled out, waiting expectantly for an occupant. “Take down your breeches and drawers, and bend over the back of the chair.” The order was given more calmly than the scolding, and Warren suppressed a shudder.

 

There was something so _intimate_ about this part. Warren’s heart was hammering in his ears as he approached the chair, hands lowering to his breeches. They fumbled a little as he undid the buttons, his face beginning to burn. Warren, like any young man, had received his fair share of birching, caning, and slippering in his time. But never had he felt the way he did now, as he allowed his breeches and drawers to slip free of his narrow hips, falling to his ankles. The air was cool against his already hot skin, and he dare not turn his head as he bent over the back of the chair. The wood was cold against his hips, and in order to place his hands onto the seat he had to lift his heels from the floor entirely.

 

     Roland felt as if he would go mad. Self-control was important to the strict butler, as well as punctuality. He had been taught to accept nothing short of perfection from his former mentor, Mr. Hatfield. The butler could resist any and all temptation to become lax in his duties, even if it meant running himself into exhaustion. The only thing that the old mad had failed to teach him was how to handle his urges of a different kind entirely. Warren had caught his attention soon after arriving in the household. Back then, it had been because the younger man had worked so hard. He’d done his job promptly and efficiently, and never lost his manners, despite coming from such humble beginnings. It was only a year later that Roland had begun to see the pageboy in a slightly different light.

 

Knee breeches and white stockings hugged Warren’s wonderfully shaped legs and ample bottom in a way that Roland had never seen before. That is, it was _different_ from the other footmen that Roland had seen and worked with in the past. Those somewhat mischievous green eyes would lift to meet his own, even when everyone else looked away. There was little that the pageboy could do about his strawberry blond curls, as each time they were tied back, they seemed to spring free in no time. Perhaps it was the aura of restlessness that Warren carried about him that was so appealing. It went against all that he knew, but it was oddly refreshing. That is, until more recently. Roland didn’t know if the pageboy resented him or what, but it was as if most the traits that he’d admired the younger man for had gone and flown out the window.

 

Taking this as a personal slight, the butler quietly seethed. Did he think that Roland was going to allow him to get away with such behavior because he was still considered young for his position? Did he have no respect? Most of the servants under Roland’s direction averted their eyes and hunched their shoulders when they were scolded, but not Warren. The cheeky teenager met his gaze far more often than they, and even offered a smile whenever they passed each other in the hall, or worked in the same room for any amount of time. As of late, he’d seen a lot more of Warren. Roland disliked disappointing his master and mistress, and that had been happening quite often as of late. One of his most important jobs was to keep the rest the staff in order, and the pageboy had upset that order. As this was the case, Roland had delivered his first doses of discipline as the butler. Today was much the same as any other day that Warren had neglected to do his job properly, only that Roland was at his wits end. The last caning he’d given was enough to cause the pageboy to slip to his knees twice, and it had brought out honest tears. There was a guilty thrill in that as well; making the stubborn youth break. Roland had thought that would be the end of it, but he had been very wrong.

 

And so it was that three days later, they found themselves alone in the pantry. He’d just ordered the pageboy to bend over the chair, and Warren had seemed a little repentant at last. Roland’s gaze fell to the blond youth’s breeches as they fell, traveling back up along them slowly. Clad only in white stockings now, those long legs were bared to him. Of course at the top of those pale legs lay his target; Warren’s shapely, supple bottom. Roland had seen his fair share of naked bottoms and thighs in his line of work, whether he stood aside Mr. Hatfield as he administered his punishments, or the dealt them out in his place. The butler had to admit to himself, he’d never seen a backside quite as tempting as Warren’s. Those two full, voluptuous cheeks followed by thighs toned from all his legwork, the pageboy was undeniably attractive from this angle. Of course right now that otherwise perfect bottom was stripped with the fading marks from his caning days ago.

 

“M-Mr. Gladwell?” Warren spoke up tentatively, readjusting his hips against the back of the chair. Roland felt his cheeks heat up, coming back around. That’s right; he had a job to do. He clutched the handle of the birch in his right hand.

 

“Quiet.” Roland muttered, almost defensively. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble these past few months, Sutton, and I don’t take kindly to that. A household is not unlike a clock, and every gear must be fully functioning for time to tick by smoothly. One dirty or damaged gear is all it takes to fall behind. I act as the mainspring, winding up and allowing the clock to function properly each day. That being the case, I know when a cog is out of place.” The butler’s hard-soled shoes clacked on the wooden floors as he took up his place behind the younger man. “You’re out of alignment, Sutton. Either you will clean yourself up, or I will do it for you, and the result will not be pretty.” Before Warren could respond to this, Roland swung the birch with a good amount of force. _Swack_! The sound of those thin twigs striking the pageboy’s flesh was all too satisfying, and it was followed by a sharp gasp from the blond. _Swack, thwack_! Two more heavy-handed blows fell, and a few thinner twigs broke away from the bundle. A pink flush rose of to color those pale cheeks in no time at all, and it became very clear that Roland meant business! It was on the 11 th stroke that Warren couldn’t keep his voice inside. However, what came out was a far cry from pain.

 

“ _Ooh_!” The pageboy lifted one hand to cover his mouth at once, but Roland froze mid-swing. For a few tense moments, the only sound in the room was that of Warren’s heavy breath, muffled by his hand. Finally, Roland lowered his hand, losing all patience with the younger man.

 

“You’re _enjoying_ this!” The butler accused. Warren moved to stand, though he only got about halfway, gripping the back of the chair that his hips rest against. Glancing over his shoulder, he shook his head quickly.

 

“No! I’m not, really!” He protested, fighting to keep his voice down lest they be heard by a passerby. The youth’s face was flushed pink to match his backside, and guilt was written all over his expression.

 

“Do not take me for a fool, Sutton! I’ll have you know, I know what pleasure sounds like.” Roland replied with a heavy frown, still gripping the end of the birch. How could he not see it before? It made sense, considering how often that Warren landed himself in trouble. But the pageboy was shaking his head again, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“No, it’s… it’s not like that! F-from anyone else, I would hate it!” Warren confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor before slowly returning to Roland’s face somewhat warily. Roland was taken back once more, puzzled by such a concept. That made even less sense than simply liking pain, and that was saying a lot. The butler felt his cheeks burning hotter, and his tolerance was wearing thin. He pulled back his arm, delivering a powerful _thwack_ of the birch straight across the pageboy’s bottom once more. Warren gasped, shoulders lifting as his head dipped slightly, his knuckles turning white due to his grip on the back of the chair. A low whimper issued forth from the youth’s throat, and he was unable to suppress a shudder.

 

“You _do_ like this! That it has to be from me is irrelevant.” Roland concluded.

 

“No!” Warren pleaded, his breath hitching. He was right to panic; such a desire was rather perverse, wasn’t it? “I like _you,_ Mr. Gladwell! Not the pain, but you! A-and, maybe the power you hold over me.” The pageboy nearly whined, dipping his head down once again. Roland’s brows lifted, slipping free of his confusion all at once. So, Warren liked him? He was simply a brat vying for attention, and like any child, thought that even negative attention was good. Truly, it was a relief. It meant that the pageboy didn’t disrespect him, and that this behavior could be put to an end!

 

“If you like me, then why don’t you obey me?” Roland demanded. Warren slowly lifted his head, glancing over. The youth’s face was still red, and his brows were drawn lifted.

 

“That’s… all you have to say?” He asked hesitantly. The butler gave a harsh sigh.

 

“What did you expect me to say? That I like you as well? To begin with, we're separated by eight years. Besides that, we're both servants under the same household, and last of all, you can't even do your job properly.” Roland crossed his arms, and though he was frowning, he found that his irritation had dissipated. He felt lighter, and above all, more in control of the situation. There was nothing that you could do if someone resented you, but if they _liked_ you, that was another story. Warren reached up to wipe the tears that had gathered but not fallen, his lips curving into a smile.

 

“I _can_ do my job properly.” He assured the butler, who lifted one eyebrow.

 

“That remains to be seen, and why are you smiling?” Roland ventured. Warren bit his lower lip.

 

“Because, you didn’t say ‘we’re both men.’” The pageboy explained. That was fair enough, Roland decided. He could care less about something so harmless, but he was well aware of the damage that such a confession could cause. Warren had courage, he could see that much. But the boy had to learn his place, and that was under the butler. That is, he had to learn to follow Roland’s orders correctly.

 

“If you like me, you should have said so instead of misbehaving. You’ve upset the mistress of the household, and you threatened your employment here. By all rights, I should let you go.” Uncrossing his arms, Roland held up his left hand to silence any reply. “I’m not going to do that. I’ve had my fair share of harmless infatuations with older boys, though I was never so foolish as to confess to them.” He remarked with a hint of a grin, watching with amusement as Warren’s eyes widened hopefully. “I will tell you right now, Sutton, nothing can come of this.”

 

“But, no one has to,” Warren’s voice trailed off as he watched the butler give a small wave of the birch. However unhappy he was to be rejected, the pageboy’s heart was still pounding in relief. He’s said it! He’d actually spoken the words that had been lodged inside his heart for so long! And Roland hadn’t condemned him at all, merely scolded him lightly, all things considered. The butler really had no idea just how strong the spark he’d just lit inside of the pageboy was. No matter Roland’s words, the fact that he wasn’t disgusted was a good sign.

 

“I really don’t prefer to be so harsh with my fellow employees of this household. After all, _they_ don’t make their mistakes _on purpose._ ” The butler muttered, boots clacking on the floor as he approached the table. He lay the birch down on it, brushing off his hands as he turned to face the younger man. Warren was doing his best to appear quite contrite, but he couldn’t hide the blush of his cheeks. “For you, I’m going to make a special exception.” Roland’s voice lowered a tone, and he struggled to maintain his neutral expression when it prompted Warren to capture his lower lip between his teeth again. Fear and anticipation looked quite good on those youthful features. That, Roland wouldn’t deny. He reached out suddenly; taking a hold of Warren’s left upper arm and guiding him none too gently around the side of the chair. Taken by surprise, the pageboy stumbled over the breeches at his ankles, making a clumsy effort to cover his front side with his shirt. “So, you believe yourself to be ready for the pleasures of an adult, yet you can’t allow me to see you?” Roland mocked the blond’s modesty, and Warren tensed his jaw, struck quiet by the cold truth of that statement.

 

Before he had a chance to recover, Roland sat himself down onto the chair. The old wood creaked a little in protest of the sudden action, and the butler pulled the arm he gripped firmly, sending the shorter man sprawling across his thighs with a small cry. Roland’s knees were just far enough apart that Warren’s hips rest against the right thigh, while his chest lay across the other. Warren struggled to touch the floor, but he found that his fingertips could barely brush it. Instead, he wrapped his right arm over Roland’s knee, fingers curling into the top of the butler’s trousers. His toes could touch on the other side if he stretched his legs, but he found it was easier to keep his knees a little bent. “M-Mr. Gladwell,” Warren panted, overcome with a flurry of emotions and sensations all at once. He could feel the heat from Roland’s powerful thighs even through their clothing, and he felt the muscles flex each time they compensated for the wiggling weight of the youth across them. With his left hand, Roland lifted the tail of Warren’s shirt, which had fallen to cover his bottom. “Th-this isn’t,” The pageboy protested, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. _Smack_! One heavy-handed swat landed firmly on his right cheek, and Warren yelped.

 

“Quiet.” Roland ordered, though his voice was calm now. The pageboy did as told, biting his lower lip and swallowing hard. “That’s much better. Good boys know when to hold their tongue, how to bow their heads and do the jobs that are given to them, and how to do them correctly the first time.” His strict voice scolded, earning a small sound of complaint from the teenager over his lap.

 

“I told you, I _can_ do my jo— _ow_!” The pageboy yelped again when another blow fell, this time to the left. It was surprising how much a bare hand could sting! Warren was already sore from the brief but merciless birch, but this was another sort of pain entirely.

 

“What did I just say, Sutton?” Roland asked, curling his fingers into the hem of Warren’s shirt and resting his hand on the pageboy’s lower back. The younger man swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shift his body under the simple weight of the butler’s hand.

 

“Good boys know when to hold their tongue?” Warren replied in an inquisitive tone. He was rewarded with a warm palm, which came to rest lightly on his right cheek. The pageboy inhaled sharply, instinctively trying to press away from that hand. He’d thought that there was intimacy each punishment. There was a ritual to it! Being summoned, scolded, half undressed, and then bent over a chair or a table for a good caning. He hadn’t been prepared to be touched by the older man’s _hand,_ skin to skin.

 

“Very good.” Roland patted his bottom, resulting in another wriggle of protest. “And what do bad boys get?” The butler asked with the raise of his brow. Warren swallowed hard, feeling his throat grow dry.

 

“Dare I venture to gues—?” _Smack-smack_! Two swift slaps reigned down, both to the right cheek. “S-spankings! R-right?” Warren replied quickly. Roland gave a nod, and he rubbed the area that he had slapped. The pageboy only closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and sucking in a swift breath.

 

“That’s right, Sutton. Now tell me, which are you?” There could be only one answer to the butler’s question. Wishing more than anything to be out of this situation, Warren spoke up quietly.

 

“I… I’m a bad boy, Mr. Gladwell.” Warren’s fingers clenched into the knee of Roland’s trousers, and he dipped his head as far as possible. Even if he wasn’t a _boy,_ but a young _man,_ the pageboy was smarter than to say it right now. Warren had no idea what he had expected to happen if he confessed, but of all the things that he had imagined, this wasn’t one of them.

 

“And?” Roland prompted. Warren flinched, realizing he would have to say it. He could barely form the words through his mortification, his voice wavering as he spoke.

 

“I’m going t-to get a spanking.” The words came out in a rush, and it was one that sent tingles all throughout the pageboy’s body. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest; as if something he had been looking for had just been found. Powerless over the older man’s lap, one of the man’s warm hands on his naked bottom, the other at his lower back, and being driven to say such humiliating words, Warren had never felt so relieved.

 

“Correct.” Roland confirmed, lifting his hand. Warren flinched before the first slap was even laid, his body jerking in response when it landed firmly on the sensitive underside of his right cheek. The butler wasn’t holding back at all, and the rhythmic sound of his palm striking Warren’s already pink bottom soon filled the pantry. Like Warren, Roland was strangely pleased with this arrangement. He could put more force into his swats when he was using his bare hand, for one, and so he found his irritation dissipating much faster than it had before. The weight of the young man over his lap and the heat of that wiggling body brought out a satisfaction that he wasn’t familiar with. As Warren’s gasps slowly faded into whimpers, the butler began to gather what was so different about this time. This was _personal._ Roland’s left hand curled tighter into Warren’s shirt, watching with great satisfaction how the pageboy’s ample bottom jiggled with each swat. As the pink began to darken to more closely resemble red, Warren added sniffles and whines to his whimpers.

 

“M-Mr. Gladwell,” a hiss of pain, “ _Please_!” Warren begged, tears welling up in his green eyes. Each firm smack of the butler’s calloused palm renewed the burn and sting, and there were little to no pauses between them. “ _Please, I’m sorry! T-truly, I am_!” He wiggled over the butler’s lap, desperate to find some sort of relief from the pain. Roland released the pageboy’s shirt, moving his hand to hold Warren’s hip instead. He gave a particularly hard _smack_ to the top of the youth’s thigh, to which the younger man cried out, his knees bending to block any further blows.

 

“Feet _down,_ and stay still!” Roland ordered gravely. Warren swallowed hard, nearly trembling as he lowered his feet from covering what they could. The pageboy’s breath was ragged and heavy, and his shoulders trembled.

 

“I _can’t_!” He protested.

 

“You _can,_ and you _will._ ” Roland assured him, thought he was also light of breath. His own hand was burning, fingers tingling, and he gave it a small shake. “This is the kinder of punishments, and one befitting of your childish behavior. It was my hand, the cane, or I let you go. Now, which do you prefer?” His palm came to rest gently on one abused cheek, rubbing slowly. Warren shuddered, a quiet groan falling from his full lips. There wasn’t even a question in his mind.

 

“Your hand.” The pageboy admitted.

 

“I thought so. And you promised that you would follow my orders, did you not?”

 

“I did.” Warren whimpered, resisting every urge to wiggle again. The warm hand on his red hot bottom was anything but unwanted, painful or not!

 

“Then you will obey me, and not interrupt me again.” Roland commanded. Warren’s belly was twisting with inner turmoil and confusing emotions, but he nodded his head dutifully. “Good boy.” Those two words sent a wave of elation through the pageboy’s strained body, and he felt his heart begin to pound with happiness, despite the situation. The next swat came swiftly, and Warren couldn’t withhold a sob. He wanted to obey! To be good, and allow the butler to finish. Another swift and heavy slap and he felt a tear slip free. This time there were pauses, each blow given seconds after the last. It was agony! With a cane or a birch you had lasting welts, but the punishments were shorter. Roland was taking his time with him, drawing out his spanking and wringing it for every last drop of pain, and without causing any undue damage or drawing blood!

 

Above him, he could _hear_ Roland’s heavy breath. The heat between them had intensified some time ago, but only now did he realize how tightly that the butler held his hip. Roland’s thumb even rubbed at that hip, and above the pain, Warren was suddenly quite flattered. His entire body trembled with the need to wiggle, but he fought it off, allowing himself to sob instead. Tears were hot and wet as they fell in streaks down his cheeks, and from the tip of his nose. Though he had shed a few tears from the cane or birch previously, Warren had never in his life cried like this before. His broken, desperate sobs were accompanied by a hug of Roland’s knee, fingers fisted into the butler’s trousers. At long last, the older man’s hand ceased to fall. It was only one less sound in the room, the remaining being that of both men’s heavy breaths. Warren trembled from head to toe, shaking with sobs. His bottom felt hot as top of a stove, and it stung fiercely. “ _P-please, Mr. Gladwell,_ ” Warren nearly whispered.

 

“What is it?” The husky voice from above him asked.

 

“Would you please… that is, i-if you would be so kind,” the pageboy tripped over his words, chest tight with anxiety. Right now, he feared that any request might be met with more irritation from the older man. “ _Rub_?” He murmured at last. Instead of a scold, or a swat, Roland did just that. Warren hissed as that punishing hand now soothed his red bottom, rubbing slowly over the sore flesh. “ _Thank you,_ ” he whispered with all of his heart. Roland couldn’t help but smile, speaking gently to the pageboy.

 

“For what?” The butler prompted. Warren stilled, caught off guard. He held his breath until his body forced him to release it, mind racing for the proper answer. Finally, his face as hot as his bottom, he bowed his head and spoke up.

 

“Thank you for spanking me, Mr. Gladwell.” Because in the end, he _was_ grateful. He’d been given attention, and though it wasn’t what he had expected, it was _better._ He’d gotten to feel their bodies close together, and to writhe across the butler’s lap as that merciless hand punished him. Warren knew that it was shameful, but he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. This _was_ what he had wanted. Now it was Roland’s turn to pause, hand resting heavily on one cheek. The heat was amazing, and he’d never felt it like this. The very backside that he had been admiring, he could now touch.

 

“Up,” the butler ordered gently. Warren sniffled, arms and legs wobbling as he moved to obey. Before he could even begin to stand, Roland slid one hand behind the youth’s neck, guiding him to his knees. Another urged him closer, while his free hand retrieved a handkerchief from his suit pocket. Roland handed it to the pageboy, who was now half-naked and kneeling between his legs. Warren took it gratefully, wiping away his tears. The heavy hand stayed behind his neck, allowing the pageboy to feel just how hot it had gotten from spanking him. Blowing his nose quickly, Warren lifted his head, eager to see Roland’s face.

 

The butler’s stoic expression had been replaced by one that Warren had never seen before. Cheeks flushed, and those ice blue eyes dilated, lips parted slightly for his heavier breath. As for Roland, he was captivated by the youth looking up at him. Warren’s blond curls were all astray, his face red from crying, but with eager green eyes and a curve of those perfect lips. Roland moved his hand to cup the pageboy’s cheek, and Warren pressed into it, eyes nearly closing. The butler cleared his throat. “You will never again deliberately provoke me in any way that threatens your employment here. Am I understood?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Gladwell.” Warren answered without a breath of hesitation. Roland gave a small nod, satisfied with this.

 

“In return,” the butler continued, fingers sliding down under Warren’s chin. “Any time that you wish to be punished by me, you will come to me directly. We will take care of it when I have the time, or once everyone has settled down for bed.” Roland stated. Warren’s eyes widened, and his smile grew. “ _Only_ for punishment! That’s the only attention that you’ll get from me.” Roland stressed, but Warren was nodding anyway.

 

“I understand!” And he did. He also understood that his chance had yet to be taken from him. There was hope for him yet! All that he had to do was convince the butler that he was adult enough, and that he could behave himself. Roland’s brows furrowed, as if he could read the pageboy’s mind. In any case, he released his chin.

 

“Keep the handkerchief, return it to me cleaned. Tonight, you may come to me for a tin of lotion. You’ll want to use it after such a spanking.” Roland explained, though he paused. “You took it well.” He praised, just to see the pageboy blush. Warren bit his lower lip.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Gladwell. I will come to you.” He assured the older man. As if he would miss such an opportunity! Roland ran his fingers through those soft blond curls slowly, taking a deep breath before he stood. Pushing the chair back, he turned his back to walk around it.

 

“Collect yourself and finish the glasses. If I see one spot, I _will_ use my cane on you tonight. Do _not_ test me.” Roland warned gravely, and Warren actually felt his face pale a little. He had no doubt that the butler would follow through, and even he wasn’t brave enough to face a cane with this sore of a bottom!

 

“O-of course. I will do my job.” Warren managed to reply. Roland placed his hand onto the door handle, opening it before he glanced back. The pageboy sat on his knees, taking care to keep his bottom off of his heels, clutching the handkerchief in his hands. With a hint of a smile, Roland passed through the door and closed it behind him.


End file.
